


About Waking, Cassiopeia and Good People

by bogfable



Series: cassiopeia au [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Family, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, fjorclayweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogfable/pseuds/bogfable
Summary: For fjorclayweek 2020 - day 5: dreamsIn which Fjord dreams about the sea, him and Caduceus have a young child named Cassiopeia, Fjord tries his best, and Caduceus admits that maybe being left alone in the grove for such a long time did mess him up.(they're both trans in this and have a child because they prayed for one and the wildmother helped them out)(also Cassiopeia is they/them)
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Series: cassiopeia au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822063
Comments: 19
Kudos: 123





	1. hazy, pre-dawn

**Author's Note:**

> the vibes are like..these songs: follow my voice and young wife by julie byrne, and I dont want your voice to move me by laura gibson.
> 
> some art of cassi if you're wondering what they look like:  
> https://drawjas.tumblr.com/post/614771968639631360/fjorclay-kiddo-sketches-again-0-they-live-by
> 
> i hope you enjoy and i hope this makes sense hahaa :'')  
> comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

_There are waves lapping at his ankles. Fjord’s stomach lurches, heart in his throat, beating hard. It only slows again as he realises that the water’s not grasping at him or trying to drag him under. It isn’t inky black or staring with a million glowing eyes._

_It’s gentle. A rhythmic, soothing tide, reflecting the moon across it’s deep blue surface._

Still, it wakes him.

☾

Fjord opens his eyes to hazy, pre-dawn light. He exhales, long and slow as he stares at the ceiling, catching his breath. Despite how often he dreams of the sea, and how close they live to it, he can’t help but be a little shaken each time he feels dream-waves on his feet. 

Fjord presses his hand to his chest, over the scar he knows is thick and pale beneath his shirt. Everything's as it should be, all in one piece. And he only feels his heart beating, just a little fast.

There’s a sigh besides him, and a shuffling, as Caduceus shifts. He makes a deep, rumbling sound, stretching out his legs and tucking them up again. He tugs on the blankets they share.

There’s a small voice. A “ _Hi_.” 

Fjord looks past his shoulder, to Cassiopeia, who’s tucked into Caduceus’ arms. They smile in a mischievous, knowing way that reminds Fjord of the way Caduceus and Clarabelle look at each other. _Trouble-making_.

“Hi,” Cassieopeia whispers again.

Fjord puts a finger to his lips, shushing. “Shh…Go back to sleep, Cassi.”

They don’t. Instead they whisper, “Can we go to the beach?”

_Ah._ It’s a familiar question, one they ask most nights — whenever they wake before dawn, which is often. Most nights they fall back to sleep not long after.

☾

_Caduceus lifts Cassiopeia from their cot and holds them against his shoulder as they sniffle._

_“Hey,” Caduceus whispers, low and warm. “What’s the matter this time?”_

_He and Fjord have already been woken several times already tonight. Each time they fumble out of bed, and rock their child back to sleep. Or change or feed them. Each time Cassi sleeps for an hour or two before waking again._

_“Where’re you going?” Fjord asks._

_Caduceus is wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, bundling Cassi against his chest. He hums. “Just into the garden for a while,” he replies._

_Fjord looks to the window, to the gap of dark, dark sky between the curtains. “But it’ll be cold out there.”_

_Quietly, Caduceus leans down and presses a kiss to Fjord’s temple._

_“I’ll ask Mother to keep us warm,” he says._

_In the morning Fjord finds them curled in the dewy grass beneath the windswept pine at the edge of the garden. The long, coarse grass has pulled inward, as if to shelter them both. Like a nest._

☾

“Not right now, Cass,” Fjord whispers.

Cassiopeia sighs. They wriggle away from Caduceus, towards Fjord, and press their head against the side of his chest. 

“Wh…What’s…” a half-asleep voice murmurs. Caduceus blinks wearily in the darkness.

“S’alright,” says Fjord. “Just dreaming.”

He reaches his hand out towards Caduceus and places it on his shoulder, a silent _come closer_. He does. And he lets Fjord tuck his chin against his shoulder, tangling his long legs around Fjord’s own, his tail tickling his shin. Cassi grumbles between them, getting comfortable. 

“Beach in the morning?” they ask. 

Caduceus smiles, eyes closed. “Sure.”


	2. so kind, so safe

“Fjord.”

He looks over his shoulder, away from the water, where Cassi had paddled for hours that morning. They’d run up and down the strip of white sand with a basket in hand, collecting shells and worn-soft sea glass. 

“I… I didn’t realise how long my family were gone for,” says Caduceus, as if by confession. “And it…it was twice as long as I thought.”

Fjord watches the way his hands move as he slips the sickle back into the belt around his waist. He watches his fingers tangling and undoing, entwining. They settle with a hand on each forearm, arms wrapped around himself. He’d been so quiet that morning, brow creased as he made breakfast — creased like whenever he’s thinking hard.

Fjord isn’t sure what to say in reply to that. It isn’t a secret, how long Caduceus was alone. Or that he didn’t know until he was told. 

☾

_“Ten years”, Caduceus repeats quietly to himself, sitting on the edge of the bed. Fjord stands in the doorway, marvelling at the dried flowers, weaved grass and willow, and cut-out fabric shapes that hung from the ceiling. He feels a little like he’s intruding._

_“Did you sleep in here?” he asks._

_Caduceus looks up from his knees. “Yeah.”_

_“It looks kind of small for you now, I suppose,” Fjord says, laughing quietly, respectfully._

_“Oh…Oh. No,” Caduceus smiles to himself. It’s a sad, fond smile, and perhaps a little ashamed. “I slept in my parents’ bed when I was alone.”_

_Fjord wasn’t sure what he expected, but when he finally visits the Blooming Grove he’s overcome by just how isolated it is. All alone in the Savalirwood. It’s lively though, now that the Clays have returned and begun to heal it._

_Beau stands besides Fjord, wiping her brow. She’d been cutting the corrupted roots and vines from the iron fence with Yasha, Jester, Cornelius, Calliope and Colton. (Apparently Colton had stormed off after Jester had recounted the Mighty Nein’s great escape from an ancient dragon.)_

_The outside of the temple is draped in bunting of chestnut leaves and brightly dyed cloth, and the front steps are lined with baskets of makeshift insect homes — both Clarabelle’s work. Smoke steadily streams from the chimney, accompanied by the warm, spiced scent of a home-made meal in progress. This is Constance, Corrin and Caduceus’ work._

_“It was fuckin’ creepy here before,” says Beau._

_Together they watch Clarabelle, who’s skirting the edge of the Grove, ducking in and out of the long grass. She’s elbow-deep in a pool filled with black water, looking for frogs._

_“I can imagine,” Fjord replies._

_He tries not to let his eyes linger on the graves too long._

☾

Fjord can’t imagine, not really. He can’t quite conjure a steady image in his head of the silent temple, the halfway overgrown garden, the sound of the wind in the trees that Beau swears sounded like sad, sad people. Caduceus says they made for good company for a while, those trees, but they stopped responding when the corruption reached them. And the rest of the plants are a lot less talkative.

Caduceus carries Cassiopeia on his back, tied to him with a long length of fabric. He pulls the sickle from his belt and bends as he reaches for the stalk of a cabbage. The sharpened blade slips right through. The cabbage is tossed to Fjord and dropped into the basket by his feet.

“The olive tree should be ready for harvesting in two weeks, give or take a few days,” says Caduceus. “I’ll make some olive bread. We can bring some to Jester and Beau, too.”

Fjord nods. He doesn’t need to ask him how he knows, he’d watched him ask the tree that morning. “Caddy?”

Caduceus looks up at Fjord, from where he’s knelt into the dirt. Cassi is asleep, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Mh-hm?”

“Are you upset at your parents for leaving you?” asks Fjord, the question tumbling out before he can stop it. 

Caduceus stills, one hand on the sickle, the other pulling back cabbage leaves, exposing the damp earth beneath. Eventually he draws his hands back and into his lap.

“No,” he says. “They’re good people.”

“Of course they are,” replies Fjord. 

They’re really good folk. They’re lovely. But Fjord finds Caduceus’ voice in his thoughts, saying: _a lot of good people do bad things, not always on purpose…it’s just how things happen._

Caduceus has never been one to listen to his own advice.

“Well,” Fjord tries. “Good people can do bad things. Y’know, _we_ have — the _Nein_. And we’re good.” There’s a question to the end of the sentence he wishes wasn’t there.

Caduceus sits in the fresh-turned earth, quiet. It’s a rare quiet, one Fjord’s only witnessed a handful of times. It’s a quiet that turns into a shaky breath and a soft cry against his shoulder.

Fjord kneels in front of Caduceus, lets him fold against him. Cassiopeia, still on his back, stays asleep, having exhausted themself this morning. There’s a long moment of just breathing, just shushing and holding. Fjord watches the sea over the cliff’s edge, brow knitted, watches the sunlight on the water, turquoise and clear.

“Oh, _Gods_ ,” Caduceus grumbles against Fjord’s neck. He sighs, teary. “I don’t know, Fjord.”

He unwraps his arms from Fjord’s back, pulls away a little, and his eyes are sad and pooling. His nose is wet. He wipes it with the back of his hand.

Fjord watches him, searching for hints, searching for something to say.

“You don’t know what?” he asks.

Caduceus shrugs. “If I’m upset,” he says. And then: “Maybe I’m angry…Oh. That is— That would be so unfair to them.”

He looks to the sky, as if he’s praying. Maybe he is.

There’s a clench in Fjord’s chest, a pull, and he feels like he might cry too.

“You’re allowed to be angry at your family,” he says, perhaps a little to quickly. “It doesn’t mean that you don’t love them. Or that they don’t love you.”

Caduceus lowers his head, staring at Fjord. And Fjord wonders why he was ever unnerved by the way Caduceus watches, questioning, as if he’s looking through you.

“When did you get so wise?” Caduceus asks, a mischievous glimmer in his lilac eyes.

Fjord’s ears get hot, like when they first started to steal glances across tavern tables. 

“I— Well, I…I’m just parroting you,” he mumbles. “You should take your own advice more often.”

Caduceus bows his head, pressing his cheek to Fjord’s temple. The low hum of his breathing trembles in Fjord’s own chest, still a little shaky.

“I’m not really angry,” Caduceus says after a while. “Oh… _hm_ …I don’t think I’m angry… Not at them directly. It’s more like…” he trails off, makes a considering noise. “I guess I felt betrayed.” 

Fjord looks at him, wondering if he’s saying all that he’s thinking.

Caduceus notices his glances and takes a deep breath. Then says: “I broke some of our teacups while I was alone… On purpose.”

“Oh.” Fjord laughs a surprised little laugh.

“Yeah…” Caduceus laughs too. “There was one day after Colton and Belle left. I kind of wrecked the place…And then I tidied it all up the next day. Or the next time I woke up. I slept a long time afterwards — I don’t know if it was the next day…That was bad.”

Fjord presses his hand to Caduceus’ cheek, petting the soft fur by his ear with his thumb. 

“I would’ve done the same thing,” he says. 

Caduceus sighs for a long time, leaning into Fjord’s palm. “I broke Call’s favourite teacup.”

“That’s okay,” Fjord replies. He remembers Jester and Caduceus showing him the gifts they’d picked out before visiting the Grove a couple years ago, how Jester told everyone about how long Caduceus had spent picking out a teacup from a stall overlooking the harbour. “You gave her a new one. She probably understood.”

“She did.”

Fjord remembers the way Calliope smiled and laughed when Caduceus gave it to her. The way she held it against her chest and whispered a _thank you_. And the way Caduceus pulled her into a hug, whispering something. She held on tight, listening, shaking her head and saying _:_ “It’s okay”. Then she ruffled Caduceus’ hair until he let her go. 

“Maybe you should try to talk to them about it,” Fjord says.

As he does Cassi begins to stir, wriggling inside the fabric that holds them. Caduceus looks over his shoulder, to their child. 

“You want out?” he asks.

Cassi wriggles more, nose all scrunched. 

“Alright, alright,” says Caduceus, untying the fabric from around his waist and pulling Cassi into his lap with a groan. “Ooh. You’re getting big.” 

He holds onto Cassi for a little while as they stretch their legs and spread their fingers and toes, yawning wide. They make a grumbly half-asleep noise with a few words sprinkled in, something about jam on bread.

“Cad?” Fjord says as they all get to their feet.

“Mm?”

He reaches up, squeezes Caduceus’ shoulder. “You should talk to your parents…About what you told me.” 

Caduceus smiles softly, the edges of his mouth curling upwards just a little more.

“I will,” he says. “Maybe we should invite them over for tea someday.”

“Soon?” Fjord asks, following Caduceus as he guides Cassi through the backdoor, into the kitchen.

“Yeah. Soon.”

☾

_The ocean’s lapping at Fjord’s ankles again, cold but not unbearably so. It’s endless, clear and blue and soft at the edges. His hair tickles his cheeks, pulled on a warm breeze — a kind, safe breeze that smells of earth and newly-opened leaves. And on the sand besides him sits Caduceus, Cassi in his lap. He fishes around in the sand as it’s stirred up by the waves, and he holds up a sea-snail’s shell. The shell is tiny, pale green and delicate. And out from the entranceway sprouts a single sea-pink bloom._


End file.
